


The Adult Troll Effect

by Sphealrical



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daycare, Daycare, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 10:22:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7680682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sphealrical/pseuds/Sphealrical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave drops Dirk off at his first day of daycare!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adult Troll Effect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snacko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snacko/gifts).



> Written for snacko as an addition to the daycare AU found on thegoshdangdavekatgang.tumblr.com! Y'all should go check it out!

You’d heard that daycare waiting lists were a nightmare, but you had absolutely  _ no _ idea. You’d started production on your newest movie  _ months _ ago, and the daycare you signed Dirk up for only got to his name on the waiting list  _ yesterday. _ You’ve been having to leave Dirk with your good friend every day between and, honestly, it’ll be such a relief to not have the stack of favors you owe John grow so rapidly.

When they called you to announce the “congrats, you’re in”, they also gave you a few instructions for when you first came to drop Dirk off.

“You’ll need to come early,” they said. “We’ll need you to sign some disclaimers in case he hurts himself on the playground equipment,” they said. You were fine with these things. These are things you can handle.

“The worker on duty will be a full-grown troll with glowing red embers for eyes, a fucking cotton candy mess of ebony hair, and lips as glossy and black as your favorite vinyl record,” is something they did not say and, you feel, the highest on the list of things you absolutely needed to be warned about.

Especially since Dirk, in an impatient show of childishness, rang the fucking call bell on the receptionist desk over and over at least 14 times before you stopped him, and the troll rounded the corner and leveled an ethereal, blood-red glare straight at you. He marched towards the desk, eyes trained directly on yours, and you stood: paralyzed.

“I’m sorry for the wait,  _ sir _ ,” he all but growled, leaving you breathless at the flash of white incisors, “is there anything I could help you with?”

You couldn’t really think, so you grabbed the first idea that popped into your head and ran with it.

“He did it,” you said, pointing to the child in your arms.

Dirk piped up before the troll could reply.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

From there, he calmed down enough for you to explain (and breathe). Once he knew you weren’t just some asshole dissatisfied with the service, he led you to an office and offered you the choice between two leather rolly-chairs and a plethora of miniature, plastic seats stacked against a wall. You and Dirk both opted for the rolleys.

“One moment please” the guy had said so he could do something on the computer on his desk. That was five minutes ago. Your phone won’t connect to the locked wifi at the place (the password’s not its name, “guest”, or “qwerty”. You’re at a loss), so instead, you’ve spent every aching minute trying not to stare at the gorgeous fucking man who works at the place that’ll be taking care of Dirk while you’re working on your latest installment of SBaHJ cinema.

“Strider, right?” he asks you, reading your name off the computer. The break in the otherwise pronounced silence startles you, and it takes all your self control not to jump.  Thankfully, you’ve always been quick to the recovery.

“I sure fucking hope so,” you flash him a smirk, “at my age, it’s a bit late for an identity crisis.”

He gives you the “I wish I could yell at you” smile you know so well from the self-entitled executives they sometimes make you work with. Now, being an asshole, you can handle. It’s easier to forget a person’s incredibly attractive when they wanna punch you in the face.

A whirring sound fills the room. You recognize the noise; a printer must be in here somewhere. After the room re-quiets, he reaches under his desk and retrieves a short-stack of forms.

“What do these say?” you ask as he sets them in front of you.

“Reading them is the best way to find out,” he replies. Ouch. Damn. You’re gonna have to up your ante.

“I get handed a lot of things to autograph, uh,” you take this chance to lean in close enough to read his nametag with your shades still on, “Mr. Vantas. I gotta make sure my name ain’t being slandered here, and y’know, I can only read so much with these-”

He tries to whisper “oh for God’s sake” under his breath, but the guy doesn’t seem very good at whispering. He rotates his chair to directly face you and leans forward to point at the pages.

“These say that you understand the common-sense rules of this place and that you’re not gonna act like a jacka-” his eyes flick to the small child sitting next to you, “-act and sue us if your son ends up hurting himself.”

You fake a gasp.

“I can’t believe this slander.” You turn to your little bro with a smile. “Dirk, have you ever known your bro to be a jackact?”

Dirk shakes his head immediately, despite the fact that there’s no way he has any idea what that means. What a bro.

You give the man behind the desk an expectant gesture. He sighs.

“ _ Sir _ ,” there’s that growl of his again with the flash of white behind vinyl black, “while I’m sure your child’s opinion of your character is of the utmost credibility, these forms are to make sure the daycare and, you know, the  _ United States government _ can treat you with the respect Dirk here knows you deserve without being taken advantage of.”

“Damn, well, can’t argue with that,” you surrender. You reach into the over-the-shoulder briefcase you carry with you everywhere to grab one of your trademark pens from inside. The bag’s a little bulkier than usual, and you’re careful to not expose why as you root around the bottom. Dirk, oblivious, starts spinning his chair in circles. You finally find the pen and pull it out.

With a few quick flourishes, you’re finished adding your John Han[censored]. You, a director and comic-maker with too much money for one single-parent and child, can no longer sue this place in a fraudulent grab for cash. The Capitalist bastards got you by the scruff of your neck.

He turns the paper around to check to make sure you signed every dotted line. He pauses on the very first signature.

“ _ Red _ pen?” He asks. A smile tugs at your lips.

“My lawyers made it very clear that although it was _ highly recommended  _ I sign things in black or blue ink, there were  **_technically_ ** no legal restrictions on the color of ink used to sign legal documents.”

Dirk pauses his spinning to nod his head vigorously at your side, backing your word with that unfailing “utmost credibility” of his.

Mr. Vantas pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, sir. You are,  **_technically_ ** , correct,” he admits. Under his breath he tries to tack on, “something you seem to be pretty fucking good at.”

You break into a wide grin.

“Damn straight I am,” you reply. He startles a little, not expecting you to have heard that. “I’m a downright suckerpunch of accuracy. You think you’re facing a peaceful wall of wrong when suddenly, like my guys in Tag Team always say, ‘Whoomp! There it is’.”

He’s probably still shocked from the fact that you didn’t chew him out for his comment, but that last bit gets a surprised laugh.

Your smirk grows a little with the encouragement, and he realizes his mistake the moment before you go on.

“Well!” He cuts through the space you left, “everything’s in order now. You probably have to get to work, so I won’t hold you any longer. I assume you and Dirk were given the tour on your initial visit before being added to the waiting list?”

“Nope.” You’re lying. You just wanna hang out with this guy a little bit more.

“No offense, sir,” he says, “but there’s no fu-” another glance at Dirk, “freaking way. My brother absolutely gave you a tour when you first came to put your child on the waiting list. He lives to tell people things they already know, could figure out on their own, or don’t care about.”

You laugh. It’s absolutely true. The whole time the tour guide kept pointing to things and telling you and Dirk: what they were, why they were there, and the history of the object’s time at the daycare.

“Alright, then.” You stand, and your li’l bro follows your lead. Mr. Vantas takes you and Dirk to the playroom where all the other kids are, and turns to show you out. You’d follow, but you’re not quite done yet.

You kneel down to Dirk’s height.

“Now, Dirk, I’ve got to leave you here with Mr. Vantas while I go to work.”

Panic seeps into his untrained expression immediately. You were prepared for that; he doesn’t like to be without you. Ever. Thankfully, you came prepared. “But, of course, what kind of Strider would I be if I left you alone?” You reach into your briefcase and pull out the extra bulk: the puppet that played the main antagonist from your very first movie which also happens to be his favorite toy. He perks up almost instantly. “Li’l Cal here’s gonna be with you the whole time: watching out and shit.”

You hold the puppet out, but he steps past it and gives you a hug.

“I’ll seeya later, bro?” He tries to make it a statement, but it comes out a question.

You wrap your arms around him and nuzzle the top of his head.

“Of course, little dude. We’re Striders. How’m I gonna ride or die for my li’l bro if I didn’t come back?”

That persuades him. He breaks the hug and takes Li’l Cal in one arm. With the other, he takes your hand and tugs. You stand, letting him lead you over to Mr. Vantas, who looks at the puppet suspiciously but refrains from saying anything.

“Bye, Bro!” he calls as Mr. Vantas leads you away from the play area. You turn so you can wave goodbye while you walk away.

“Stay golden, pony boy!” you call back. Dirk grins wide at you before turning and darting away. When you turn back around, the daycare employee is smiling softly.

“Thank you, by the way,” you tell him, “for not calling Dirk out about Li’l Cal.”

He shrugs.

“It’s not against the rules to bring in outside toys. Whatever helps them feel better, especially on the first day, is fine by me. Besides, calling out a kid for having a vaguely creepy toy is kind of a dick move.”

You laugh.

You hesitate when you’re at the door. Mr. Vantas, the pal, stays by you.

“We have all five numbers you left us in case of emergency, and if you want to speak to Dirk at any time, you can call the daycare’s direct line, and we can guarantee a five minute conversation with him. He’ll be fine, sir. We take good care of all the children here.”

You smile. “Thank you, Mr. Vantas.”

“You’re welcome, but… you  _ do _ realize there are  _ two _ Mr. Vantases working here, right? My brother literally gave you an entire tour.”

You shrug.

“He wouldn’t let me get close enough to read his nametag. Something about it being ‘an infiltration of his personal bubble’ or something. Which, I mean, I get that, but also, he really could’ve told me his name when I asked, and it wouldn’t have been a problem at all.”

The guy snorts.

“That’s the Kankri experience, alright.”

“So, uh,” you lean against the door, “is there any other thing you want me to call you so, like, your supervisors don’t get confused when I call in with all the five-star reviews?”

“Karkat,” he tells you, “Karkat Vantas. I’m in charge of taking care of the children during the day, and Kankri’s in charge of the graveyard shifts. You’ll probably be seeing more of me than him.”

You give Karkat a wide smirk.

“That’s the best fucking news I’ve heard all day.”

“Most people say ‘worst’, but whatever. You’ll get there.” He flashes a lopsided smirk. His smirks are a little bigger than his scowls, apparently, because you can see more of his teeth in stark contrast to-

Lost in staring, you accidentally put too much weight on the door. It opens. You fall backwards, spilling onto the sidewalk.

_ Fuck. _

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a one-shot. This scene was written to purposefully suggest that its part of a larger narrative, but as of right now, I only intend to write this scene. Thank you all for reading!!!


End file.
